She was riding pillion, and I was aware of her knees brushing against the sides of my thighs at every bump and every turn. She was holding onto my shirt; I told her to circle them all the way around my waist. The road to safety was long and rocky, and it felt like there could be an ambush at every turn, either by her kindred or mine. We were only sixteen, but we were in love, and we were above the divide—Kuki, Zomi; none of that mattered to us.